The Son

The room is dim, slightly light by a glowing toy lamp which casts a warm glow over the landscape of the 4 by 6 room filled with a rampage of toys and crayons.

Suddenly light floods in from the hall into the room as the tall frame of a man glances in before proceeding to the bed where a little boy lay.

Dad: Tomi, you are still awake?

Tomi: dad, (with a sleepy drawl)

Dad: (sitting beside the bed) did you enjoy your friend’s birthday? What’s her name again…? (Searching Tomi’s eyes)

Tomi: Tayo, she is not my friend again.

Dad: Why? (With a Puzzled grin across his face)

Tomi: She always plays house and it is not a fun game because every time she plays house she says that I am her husband and she is my wife. She now says that we have a child and, and (pauses)….i don’t like the game.

Dad: but it’s just a game… (Laughs)

Tomi: I don’t like it. Our baby is her doll baby and I am telling her that that is not a real baby.

Every thing is always the baby is hungry, the baby poo poo…(squirms in the bed sheet)I don’t care.

Dad: (with emphasis) Tomiiiiiiiii.

Just because you do not like her baby doesn’t mean it is not special (chuckles), you may be surprised at what you are missing. Let me tell you story.

A long time ago there lived this wealthy man and his beloved son. They loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael and they would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

Sometime passed and the country was experiencing war between each other, and so the son went to war like many other young men his age. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier.
When the wealth man; the boys father was told he grieved deeply for his only son for a very long time.

(The sound fades as the father is sitting in his home distraught when he his gateman ushers in a young man in army uniform)

Gateman: Oga, this man talkam say, him know am for your pikin (gestures to the young solider).

Solider: Good afternoon sir

Father: How may I help you, you say you knew my boy.

Solider: Yes sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart but one thing I remember him was how he often talked about you, and your love for art."

(The young man held out a package).

Solider: I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.

Wealthy man: The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears.

Wealthy man: Ah, how much do I owe you for your trouble….i must give you something for this (gasps)
Solider: Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift.

Dad: The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

Time did pass again and this time the man died. There was therefore to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people were gathered, and were excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.

On the platform sat the painting of the son.


The auctioneer: (pounding his gavel) we will start the bidding with this portrait of the son. Who will bid for this painting?

(Silence)

Chief Ekwem: (with an igbo ascent in a loud voice from the back of the room). We want to see the famous paintings. Carry this one comot

The auctioneer: (Persisting) Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? N10000, N2000? Somebody…anybody…

Monsieur Patrick: (angrily.) Wi didn't come to see this painting wi came to si the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. c’est absolute mais non.

(Crowd murmuring and nodding in agreement)

The Auctioneer: (still persisting) the son! The son! Who'll take the son?"

(More murmurings)

Gateman: (from the very back of the room) I'll give N5000 for the painting, its all I have (opening up his savings container)

The Auctioneer: We have N5000, who will bid N15000?

Alhaja Biola and Hamsat: Give am now haba, e never do.

The Auctioneer: Won't someone bid N15000?

(The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the painting of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.)

The Auctioneer: (pounding the gavel.)Going once, going twice and SOLD for N5000 to the man in blue uniform(the gateman)!

Chief Ekwem Ehen, let us get on with the collection!"


The Auctioneer: (laying down his gavel). I’m sorry, the auction is over. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will.

I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.

The man who takes the son gets everything!"

(Disappointment drains the colour out of the faces of the people and disarray ensues amongst them as they realize their loss)

Dad: You see; as Tayo loves her stuffed baby so also does God even much more love his son and all his children in the world: you, me, mummy, Tayo; everybody, and yet

He gave his son 2,000 years ago to die on that old rugged cross wasn’t that indeed a great sacrifice but many people like the Chiefs, Alhajas and Monsieur do not get it and they pursue so many things and forget the True One .
So, like the auctioneer and even Tayo, His message today is:

"The Son, The Son, who'll take The Son?"